Ruminations, part 1

The dogs are watching a squirrel out the back window, oblivious to the intersections that have me lost in thought this morning. Today, I am 47, older than the sports heroes I grew up worshipping, older Jack Kerouac was when he died, older than my imagination allowed when I was younger.

But birthdays are just calendar pages and the age question is not one that has plagued me much over the years. Birthdays are joyous, celebrating the anniversary of coming into the world, but I am lost in a different kind of thought this morning, knowing that this year’s celebration is marked by the darkness of death.

Annie’s Aunt Jean died on Tuesday, the anniversary of our dog Honey’s death, and will be buried tomorrow. Today, we head to Long Island to pay our respects, to see her family. So my birthday, once again, will be spent in mourning.

I don’t offer this to be selfish. It is just an observation. And perhaps, it is wholly appropriate that the two poles of our existence meet like this, that we are made to live with death as we celebrate life, that the reminder that all of it is part of the larger whole….

Author: hankkalet

Hank Kalet is a poet and freelance journalist. He is the economic needs reporter for NJ Spotlight, teaches journalism at Rutgers University and writing at Middlesex County College and Brookdale Community College. He writes a semi-monthly column for the Progressive Populist. He is a lifelong fan of the New York Mets and New York Knicks, drinks too much coffee and attends as many Bruce Springsteen concerts as his meager finances will allow. He lives in South Brunswick with his wife Annie. View all posts by hankkalet